


Resurrection

by bloodontheground



Category: Pablo Schreiber - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodontheground/pseuds/bloodontheground
Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops officers is brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 30





	1. Ashes to Ashes

The fly’s going to die just as soon as they do. If my hands weren’t tied, it’d be dead already, but as it stands, I’m stuck hanging from a meat hook in the middle of what used to be the killing floor of an abattoir. Buzzing around my face, it keeps me from concentrating on the men in front of me, none of whom seem to notice the discomfort I’m in. No, they’re too worried about their next move, how they’re going to come out of this on top. 

Only problem is...They’re not. 

“Does anyone have the time?” The men look confused. In my current state, they must think I’ve lost my mind completely, unhinged by the trauma they’ve inflicted on me. They whisper among themselves, wondering if they should answer the question seriously, or just continue to explain why I’m in the situation I’m in. After some deliberation, the man in charge--a low tier soldier if ever there was one and _definitely_ not the man I’m after--jerks his chin in my direction. 

“Midnight. Why you ask this?” 

“Oh, no reason. Just thought they were gonna be late, that’s all.” I smirk, watching the confusion turn to anger on the man’s sweat-covered face. 

“Who’s la-” His lower jaw is gone before he can finish his sentence, the bullet searing the flesh as it crosses from one side of his face to the other. Not waiting, I grab the chain my ropes are attached to and pull myself up and out of the way, knowing full well what’s coming. 

The door’s breached with charges, the windows are pulverized by .50 cal fire, and in no less than a minute, every man responsible for my capture lays in a heap on the ground, most missing vital parts of their anatomy. I wait until some of the smoke clears and I can see the ground again to pull myself higher up the chain, effectively freeing my hands from the hook. Though the landing is the most comfortable, I don’t break anything. 

“You know, next time you want to act out a BDSM fantasy, I can just tell you where to go. I know more than a few ladies who’d love to tie you up.” 

“You fucking wish,” I say, smirking as Flip helps me out of the ropes that had kept me in place for all of an hour. 

“Amateurs. Did they miss your abs or were they just too caught up in the fact that they had to get agro with a female?” Dom asks, my smirk turning to a full-on smile, one I hope isn’t accompanied by a blush; of all the boys, he’s the only one who can really get to me. 

Freed, I finally stand, shaking out my slightly numb arms and legs, only getting a moment to breathe before my gun’s back in my hand and we’re heading out, the cover of darkness giving us a head start. As the truck we’re in makes easy work of the sand, I feel the humor fade from the men beside me. We all know the fight’s just begun. They’ve already cut down two of us, and if tonight had gone differently, I’d be number three. A kiss to my temple squeezes at my heart, and I don’t even need to look to know that Dom is the one tugging me in under his arm, silently giving me the attention I’d never ask for on my own. The attention all of us probably need, given our line of work. The empathy and assurance that things will work out, even if they get hairy along the way. Taking a deep breath, I let my head slump onto his chest, wondering, not for the first time, if it was a mistake to pull them all back in. 

Just before I close my eyes, the fly makes its triumphant return, landing on the back of Flip’s blond head. 

I don’t hesitate. 

_________________

_Three weeks earlier…_

When the DOD call, it’s never for a good reason. As a retired soldier, I usually ignore Uncle Sam and flip the bird to my phone, but today, they’ve been relentless. After the second ring on the fourth call, I finally hit the green button, ready to hear about some FUBAR situation that needs my consulting. For a few of us, even severing ties formally doesn’t keep the Department of Defense away. Unfortunately, I’m one of them, whether I like it or not.

“L-Lieutenant Ramirez?” The voice on the other end stammers, and I immediately know this isn’t a regular plead for help. It’s a young soldier, not a commander on the line, and he seems to not want to make the call almost as much as I didn’t want to answer it. 

“Yes, this is she,” I answer flatly, slightly out of breath from the interruption to my workout. Deadlift days tend to leave me lightheaded, but my stomach starts sinking the longer the kid stays silent. 

“Out with it, kid,” I say when it becomes clear he has no idea how to say what he’s been forced to say. 

“I regret to inform you that, that Major Magnussen of the Special Operations Group, and Lieutenant Applewhite from your unit have both been KIA. The details surrounding their passing are unclear at this time, but once we get intel back from London, we’ll provide you with more information. Their remains are returning aboard the George Washington, as we speak. She is set to dock tomorrow at Norfolk if you wish to meet her there. I understand this news is very difficult, but know that the DOD and the Navy are behind you, and will offer any support and services you may need through the VA. We are very sorry for your loss.”

As he bumbles out the remains of his speech, my phone’s notifications start coming a mile a minute and I know the rest of the team just got the same call. I whisper a thank you and hang up, letting the phone drop from hand as the news begins to sink in. Living alone has its perks, and one of them is being able to cry without respite. I take full advantage, knowing I’ll never see two of my favorite people ever again. 

_________________

The rest of the week is a blur and a reunion none of us wanted, given the circumstances. It’s the first time in nearly a year that we’ve all been under the same roof, and as we shuffle into the church, we’re keenly aware of why we left. At the altar lay two closed caskets, one draped in the Stars and Stripes, the other in the vivid blue and yellow of the Swedish flag. I bite the inside of my cheek hard, willing myself not to cry for what feels like the millionth time. Programmed to be strong, I know I’d feel shame in being the first to let the waterworks flow, even though all the boys have seen me cry before. If they go first, I’ll follow, but today, selfish pride takes the place of a broken heart, if only for a moment. 

Max, Rick, Flip, and Dom all look drained of life as they take their seats on either side of me, front row center to a ceremony we all know neither man would have wanted. Family wishes override everything however, so despite them both being atheists, the service is performed by a Catholic chaplain, pleasing both sets of parents. 

I focus on my posture, eyes fixed on the official photos of Jake and Benji, both images taken in the prime of their lives. Seeing them clean-shaven is strange, and the urge to ‘fix’ the pictures make me grab hold of the pew to keep myself in my seat. Instead, I shut my eyes, remembering them as they were; fit, healthy, smiling, loving life. Any other image just isn’t worth space in my mind and heart.

As the ceremony begins, I hear sniffles come from my left, and look to see Flip crying silently in his seat, devasted by the loss of his brother. Though they weren’t technically related, Flip and Benj were bound by blood, and looked the part to boot. Tall, blond, and more Swedish than an Ikea meatball, they were inseparable the moment they joined the team. Now, one will have to learn to live without the other, and if I know Flip, the guilt of not being out with Benj when he died will plague him forever. Reaching over, I squeeze his hand, a move that only brings more tears and a hitched inhale that’s pure anguish. I make a mental note to check in with Flip over the next few days, knowing full well that with access to guns and booze, there’s a strong chance he’ll at least think about it. 

My own tears fall as the ceremony goes on, each eulogy more glowing than the one before it, making it obvious the two were loved not just in the spec-ops community but outside of it too. By the time the burial begins, there’s not a dry eye in the house, and I watch men I’ve known to be stronger than steel crumple as they fold the flags and present them to the families.

Though it’s tradition to hit up a local watering hole after a funeral, I’m not surprised when, after saying our goodbyes, we all get into our assigned cars, each of us headed to a different departing flight. It’s all too much to process, and even though we all know our line of work will kill us eventually, none of us expected it to happen so soon and not to Jake and Benji. 

My tears finally run out on the four-hour flight home, exhaustion taking over and letting me sleep, if only for an hour. The rest is vital, as I’m greeted by two Naval Intelligence officers standing awkwardly at my front door when I get home. 

“Lieutenant Ramirez.” The older of the two begins, looking appropriately apologetic for his presence so soon after the loss of one of our own. “As was discussed on the phone, we wanted to give you an update on the circumstances of Lieutenant Applewhite and Major Magnussen’s deaths. Do you have a few moments to speak?” Confused as to why the ONI is providing the information, I nevertheless unlock the door and let the men follow me in. 

With coffee served, both men take a moment before opening the case file each was carrying a copy of. One is turned for me to read, while they share the second copy, both needing to present a united front as they give me the information. 

“Lieutenant Applewhite and Major Magnussen were...consulting for us in London when they were killed. While we still don’t know who the suspect is, it’s safe to say he’s powerful and connected, and most importantly, not who we were after. To take them out while they were in the middle of an OP is not only damn near impossible but unheard of in the history of JSOC. The hit was meant to put blame on the target we were after, but forensics has wiped that notion off the table as the bomb--” 

My ears begin ringing as soon as the manner of death tumbles carelessly from the younger officer’s lips and tears I didn’t think I had left fall freely. It was now crystal clear as to why the caskets were closed and I feel the bile rise in my throat before I can stop it. Holding it in my mouth, I careen to the kitchen and spit out what little there was in my stomach. I try to scream, but no sound comes out, and I grip the countertop just to stay upright. Whimpers are the only noise that cut through the house for a few moments, and I do my best to catch my breath before washing my mouth out and rubbing the tears from my eyes. 

“Who else knows?” I ask, looking at the men through the passthrough of my kitchen, my mind running wild as I picture Flip getting the same news. 

“Just you and Commander Zanetti.” And suddenly, it makes sense. If the boys were consulting, only Dom and I would be privy to the intel; him due to his rank, and I because of my intelligence background. 

“Are we running this under the table, or on the books?” I ask, not needing to hear any more from the men. They both look shocked, and the older one clears his throat before speaking. 

“Officially, the DOD and JSOC cannot authorize--”

“Cannot authorize a retaliation mission, I get it. Under the table it is. Leave the file and get out.” I say, wanting the men out of my house so they don’t have to witness another breakdown, this one more anger than sadness. 

Uncle Sam pays well when you’re not in uniform, but run like cowards when their hands get dirty. Now they want it cleaned up, but don’t want to do it themselves. It’s the reason most of us got out, and the reason I stopped consulting despite innumerous pleas. This, however, is the lowest of blows, all of them knowing Dom and I won’t ever say no, not when it comes to family. 

I wipe a hand over my face as my phone notifies me of a text message. Dom’s single sentence is all the confirmation I need in order to know that he’s just had the same visit. 

  
  


_Give the guys a few days before you go kicking down their doors and asking them to join._

I nod even though he can’t see me, and start unpacking and repacking my bag, figuring I’ll start with the longest flight first. Sweden is beautiful in the summer.

  
  



	2. Round Trip

It takes three days for me to work up the courage to drive out of Stockholm towards the cabin I know I’ll find Flip at. A traditional red and white bungalow, it’s as old as Flip’s family prior to their immigration from Iceland. Surrounded by green on one side and the blue of the archipelago on the other, it’s the perfect quiet spot to get away and think...Something I worry about Flip doing for too long. 

When I finally turn onto the dirt drive that leads to the cabin, I’m surprised to find Flip outside, hollowing out what used to be a massive log. It’s a far cry from how I expected to find him, and for a moment, I allow myself to hope that this will be the easiest of the three flights I’ve arranged. It took little time to plan the trip that will end up back at our old haunting grounds, and with extra tickets purchased for each consecutive flight, I hope things will go as smoothly as I’ve planned. 

The engine to the Audi I rented turns off with a slow purr, and I take a deep breath before getting out, hoping the mere sight of me doesn’t ruin whatever little piece Flip seems to have found out in nature. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” 

“Hey, Flip.” Our voices seem louder than they should be and each step I take crunches loudly underfoot. Tactically, the place is a nightmare. 

It only takes him a few steps to meet me halfway, and before I know it, I’m engulfed in a bear hug. I hug him back as tight as I can, knowing full well the pain he’s in, unsurprised when I feel his breath hitch in his chest. Rubbing Flip’s back, I give him the time he needs, the pain we’ve all recently suffered still raw and aching. 

With a sigh of his own, he pulls away, wiping his eyes even as he smiles brightly at me. “Do we have anything?” he asks, his usual sing-song voice hoarse and tight from the anguish he’s held back. 

“Not much. They were on a job, and whoever took them out wasn’t who they were after. The DOD is asking for this one under the table. You’re the first stop on the tour.” 

I watch Flip process the information, his gaze clouding as he weighs his options. Like all the men on our team, Flip has no ties to speak of. No girlfriend, no wife, no children. It’s a side effect of our line of work, one that takes the gray out of many of the choices we’ve made. Though we’re all technically out of the service, none of us have been able to truly settle down into civilian life. 

It only takes a moment before he nods and turns towards the house, silently going in. I hesitate in following, a decision that turns out to be prudent, since he returns only a minute or so later, changed, with bags in hand. 

“My parents are coming up tomorrow, so there’s no point in shutting off the water or anything like that,” he explains, and what little fear I’d had about his state of mind slips away; he hadn’t planned on being alone even through the most trying of times. 

“Who’re we picking up next?” He asks as he dumps his stuff in the back seat, folding his long frame into the passenger seat of the car and immediately pulling the seat all the way back. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve been craving some fish and chips lately.”

_________________

  
  


We started flying private when we stopped flying in the back of the C-130 in hammocks. With the gear we normally carry, flying commercial just isn’t an option and clearing security would be damn near impossible, so we do the next best thing; pose as the 1%. No one questions a man in a bespoke suit with a pretty young thing on his arm, even if they come through with .50 cal in tow. A quick change at a rest stop, and we step onto the tarmac dressed like a couple who have money to burn.

It’s a two and a half hour jump to Heathrow, and it takes all I have not to break down again as I watch Flip go through the photos on his phone, many of him and Scowl in drunken shenanigans. In the early days of our team coming together, I often wondered if they were more than friends, but once we’d all gotten past the awkwardness of being strangers, I understood that it was simply the Swedish way to be more open and affectionate with one’s friends, no matter their gender or sexual orientation. 

The pain Flip exudes radiates off him in stormy waves, and I know he’s lost more than a friend; he’s lost the brother he never had growing up in the outskirts of Stockholm. In the privacy of the plane, Flip lets down his guard and cries openly for the first time since the funeral. I hold his hand, hoping for revenge and closure; two things Flip needs now more than ever. 

  
  


_________________

We find Beef at a gentlemen’s club of the same name, his shirt open halfway, tie undone as he tucks bills into the garter of a woman who wears nothing else aside from a pair of pink-tinged, lucite heels. In my neon green, body-con halter dress, and Flip in his Tom Ford suit, it only takes a moment for the woman to turn her attention to us, leaving Beef more than a little perplexed. 

“This is a private dance, love. Eyes back this way,” he coos drunkenly, his eyes dark with more than just alcohol, a clear indication we’re going to need to sober up our perennial virgin before we can even  _ think _ about talking him into another job. The woman obeys, though her eyes linger on my dress in a universal look of  _ where did you get that? _

Pushing around the contents of my clutch, I grab two 100 pound notes and hold them up to her, making sure Beef can see and hear me. “You were lovely, darling, but we need some time with our friend.” He lunges for the cash, unwilling to believe the lap dance is over, but his dancer is faster, gone in a moment, money in hand. 

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Chingona?” 

“Saving you from a walk of shame.”

Beef growls, looking around wildly, hoping to catch the eye of one of the other fully-nude dancers. The bulge in his pants is unmissable even in the dark of the club, and I wonder--not for the first time--how he manages to live a life of celibacy when he can easily get any woman he wants.

I went through a bit of a hot streak when we were all shoved into a Roman villa for what would be our first--and last--mission for JSOC, sleeping with everyone but Beef, who rebuked all of my advances, steadfastly saying he was waiting for marriage. Far from being religious, he’d cited not wanting to disappoint his mother for his choice, a reason I still don’t fully believe. For all his charisma and prowess, Beef’s always been one to freeze when the attention of a woman is on him, and performance anxiety is a powerful deterrent, even to younger men. The only time he can put aside his insecurities is when he’s forced to on a job, the adrenaline taking over and making him the suave, Bond type he was brought in to portray.

Uncapping a bottle of water, I pass it to him unceremoniously, my gaze fixed on his. “Sober up, we’ve got a car waiting outside. We’ll talk in the morning when your headache goes away, tough guy.” 

Flip helps him up after Beef slugs down half the bottle and together we flank him, our grip tight enough to keep him under control, but not so tight that it draws unwanted attention. He’s passed out by the time the cab pulls away from the curb, and there’s no question that tomorrow will be an interesting day, to say the least. 


	3. Reunion 2.0

Beef takes his sweet time waking up, giving me a chance to order a decent breakfast for Flip and myself, while allowing Beef the creature comfort of a Full English since I know he won’t get it again for a while if he agrees to come with us. 

When he finally drags his feet into the living room of the hotel we’re staying at, it’s with a look that screams murder; it’s exactly what I was hoping for. Pushing his plate towards him, I nod in the direction of the massive amount of food. 

“I think you know why we’re here.” I start, finishing up the last bite of my bagel and fixing him with a solid stare. 

“Because our brothers were fucking murdered in cold blood to the point where they needed a closed casket funeral and no one has any clue who fucking did it? That why?” He growls, his face rage incarnate. 

Discreetly, I move to the edge of my seat, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Flip do the same, both of us ready to move if Beef goes into a rage. Though all the guys are taller than me, there’s no accounting for agility and a bicep placed at just the right spots on the neck, and I know Flip is more than willing to tackle him if I don’t put him in a sleeper hold first. My eyes dart from Beef’s face to his hands wrapped tightly around a knife and fork, waiting for him to make a move. My muscles finally relax when, instead of flying into a frenzy, Beef stabs at the sausage on his plate and takes a scarfing bite. As the youngest in the group, alcohol doesn’t hold as much sway the next morning as it does for the rest of us, and while most of us would be gagging at the first taste of food, if Beef is hungover, it doesn’t show.

“Does JSOC have its hand in this?” He asks between bites, the rage slowly dissipating the more he eats. I shake my head, leaning back in my seat, trying not to let the shock of how fast Beef is putting away the food show on my face.

“Of course not. Can’t get let the ‘ol stars and stripes get a little tattered.” He stabs at a slice of tomato for emphasis and while I’m the only American in the room, I can’t disagree in the slightest. 

“Where’s Ghost and Grumpy?” Max asks as he mops up the plate with the last bit of toast, my stomach turning a little at the thought of the mix of food floating around on top of all the alcohol I’m sure is still in his stomach. 

“They’re next on the list. Grumpy anyways. Ghost already knows and he’s in. JSOC can’t reasonably go over his head, rank and all.” I explain, standing and grabbing the wrappers from mine and Flip’s breakfast before turning my attention back to Beef. 

“You in, or you gonna do the walk of shame back to yours?” I ask, locking eyes with him. 

“I’m taking a limb from whoever did this. Rules of engagement be damned. JSOC can’t just throw this at us and expect me to be civil. Whoever did this is going to suffer, more than our brothers did. I want them to taste their own insides.” Flip and I share a look. 

“Take it easy, Lecter. We’ve got a flight to catch and your muzzle’s still at the compound.” Flip deadpans, standing and clearing Beef’s plate before patting him on the back, both of us still slightly disturbed at the torture scenario that’s clearly been playing out in Beef’s mind. 

“If we don’t get him laid soon, I swear to god…” I mutter to Flip as we move to pack up, the next flight leaving in less than three hours.

  
  


_________________

If there’s one place where a suit will have you sticking out like a sore thumb, it’s Hawaii. By the time the plane lands, we look more like surf bums than multimillionaires, and though the plane is a little affectatious, the guys on the tarmac look like they’ve seen it all before. 

“Hey look, Beef got lei’d,” Flip cracks the first smile I’ve seen from him all day, and I do my best not to roll my eyes, even as he elbows me playfully in the arm, his other hand jingling the wreath of flowers around Beef’s neck. 

“Why are we here? I thought Grump lived in Cali,” Beef mutters as he pulls the lei away, managing to keep it intact and smoothing it out as he walks ahead of us by a step or two, clearly just as rage-filled as he was in the morning. 

“He has a summer house out here. How do you not know this? He invited us all over for Christmas last year.” Beef stops, turns, opens his mouth to say something, and then seems to remember the brief where Grump came through wearing a Santa hat and told us all in no uncertain terms that we were required to spend Christmas at his place in O’ahu. I can’t keep the smirk off my face if I tried. 

“C á llate, Chingona,” He says, his British coming through his words even though he’s perfectly fluent in Spanish.

“No dije nada,” I grin, wondering how long his mood’s going to last before it finally boils over and we’re stuck dealing with the aftermath.

We rent a jeep and start making our way towards the ocean, watching in confusion as the houses go from typical to ostentatious in a hurry. Grump’s place is way nicer than we’re expecting considering he’d called it ‘a surf shack’ when making his offer. 

“Does he have money we don’t know about or are we about to meet his secret family?” Flip asks as I pull the car up to a speaker, a large, highly-secured gate, keeping us from driving completely up Grumpy’s driveway.

“No kids. No kids.” I mutter before hearing the beep of the speaker coming to life. 

“Hey, Rick!” I say, waving at what can only be a camera next to the speaker, doing my best to look cheerful and not like this is a visit he’s been expecting since Jake and Benji died. 

“About fucking time y’all got here.” He grumbles, and without thinking, I give the camera the finger and rev the engine as the gates open up with surprising speed to let us in. 

There’s no one to greet us after I cut the engine and we all sit in the open-top Jeep, confused. After a moment, Flip starts sniffing the air, Beef following soon after. I can’t even get a word out before they’re both tearing out of the car, sprinting towards what would normally be the backyard of the house, although in this case, it’s the Pacific in all her glory instead of a lawn of lush green. 

“Where the fuck--You assholes better not leave me to haul the gear!” I yell, finally catching the scent of beef on a barbeque and understanding why they took off. 

I make it to the back after putting all the gear by the front door, only to find Flip, Beef, Grump, crowded around the barbeque, each with a mouthful of steak. My double-take is reserved for an unexpected extra man. Unlike the rest of the team, Ghost lays poolside, his Ray-Bans reflecting the sun and mirroring the ocean view just a few feet away. 

“Hey gorgeous,” He smiles, shifting on the lounge chair and putting his hands behind his head, knowing  _ exactly _ what he’s doing to me, covered in what can only be baby oil and wearing what barely passes for black boardshorts. 

“I hate you all  _ so  _ much,” I growl, bypassing the grill in favor of going to change into something a little more fitting. 

After a little freshening up, I come back out in a black two-piece and immediately feel four sets of eyes on me, all the guys stopping whatever they’re doing to look. Though it’s been ages since I’ve been with anyone (even Ghost), it feels good to know I’m still a contender, especially with all the pretty 20-somethings frolicking on the beach just a few steps away. 

Without a word, I go and sit at the end of Ghost’s chair, handing him a bottle of tanning oil. It never fails to amaze me that Ghost and I have been on the same page since day one. Him being here without us having to make the trip to Coronado to get him just further cements the almost-preternatural synergy we’ve had since I was assigned to be his platoon’s intel officer in Ramadi. Every operation we’ve been on together since then has been as smooth as warzone matters can be.

Dom’s hands on my back make me sigh and shiver reflexively, and I don’t have to look behind me to know that the reaction is making him smile. I arch into his touch as his fingers slip down past the tie at the center of my back, my eyes opening just long enough to catch the rest of the team staring at us through their Oakley’s. 

“If you’re gonna fuck, at least have the decency to stop torturing us and take it inside. I’ve got spare bedrooms to...spare.” Rick grumbles, his face scrunched up in mock disgust, all the guys nodding their agreement. 

I feel Dom’s chest rumble with laughter as he pulls me back against him, his hands sliding across my stomach, dangerously close to a  _ very _ flimsy triangle top that’s been known to cause a nip slip or two in its time. It’s all I can do to keep my cool as his breath warms my neck, his ear-to-ear smile easy to make out as it presses against my own cheek. 

“We’re bunking up tonight. He’s lying about the spare rooms. He’s only got two,” he whispers, Ghost’s left hand slipping coyly under my bottoms for a quick moment, a tease of things to come. It’s enough to earn him a full-body shiver, and if I cross my legs, it’s only so the boys don’t get a free show. 

“I MISS YOU BEING A BARRACK BUNNY!!” Flip yells out of nowhere, breaking the mood and making us all laugh until we’ve got tears in our eyes. 


	4. The Market

_“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day for a shootout…” Jake sings, sipping his coffee and ignoring the looks he’s getting from those around us._

_“How exactly are you planning on finishing that song, Pooh?” I ask, shaking my head, my gaze focused past his head, watching across the street as Dom speaks to our contact._

_“I haven’t figured that out yet, but it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”_

_“Somewhere, Mr. Rogers is rolling in his grave,” I mutter, shaking my head, my focus on the conversation across the street and not on Jake’s bastardization of a childhood classic._

_To the untrained eye, Dom and our contact are simply two businessmen having a conversation. Both in suits, they stick out only to pickpockets and petty thieves in the bustling, open-air market; one of a handful of men with money who pick populated places to hold their meetings. For our part, we’re dressed like tourists, doing our best to blend in under the hot desert sun. Under our civvies, we’ve all got vests on, and with our gear nearby, it’s only a matter of a short sprint if things go sideways._

_“Every time you sing or talk about shootouts, we end up in one so...Could you fucking not?” Benji grumbles, voicing an opinion we’ve all had at one time or another, but have always kept to ourselves, mainly because listening to Jake’s comedy is one of the few highlights of our work._

_“Sorry, Benji-poo, just being realistic about our chances of walking our lily-white asses out of here without getting caught.” Jake grins, throwing a small rib bone at him, picked clean from our lunch._

_“Speak for yourself, white boy. All I gotta do is smile and bat my lashes and I’m home free,” I tease, Jake’s smile matching mine._

_“Yeah, just to get sold into slavery for your--” Flip squeeze the air in front of his chest, whistling, and this time it’s his face that gets pegged with a rib bone. “What? I’m just sayin’. I’d buy you.”_

_“I thought Vikings were more for just taking what wasn’t theirs,” Rick smirks, finishing his coffee, his eyes scanning the area behind me and allowing me to see what he sees by proxy as it reflects off the lenses of his sunglasses._

_We catch the man at the same time. A flash of chrome amidst all the terracotta is more out of place than Dom in his suit and instantly, we both sit up straight._

_“Ghost, we have potential contact, your six. Be ready to move,” I whisper into my mic, hidden artfully beneath my shirt. I see Dom’s back straighten seconds later, all of us bracing for the inevitable._

_The first shot rings out and silences the market momentarily before screaming and the sounds of chaos follow. Keeping my eye on Dom, I duck down beneath the table Max and Benji had flipped, letting them ascertain the direction of the shooter. It takes only a moment for Flip to fire the first shot back, his volley returned with automatic fire._

_“Get to the gear. NOW!” Rick calls, and we move as one, each covering not only ourselves but Dom until he and our contact are out of sight._

_“Ghost, we’re moving to the backup point. Meet us there!” I instruct as I run, slamming against a wall and covering Benji as he sprints the same open strip of market. Bullets whiz past him, but he makes it to us unscathed._

_We make quick work of heading into the building we’d cleared out earlier, shedding our civilian disguises in favor of plain t-shirts, vests, and thigh holsters. I tie my hair up as we head to the top floor where our heavy artillery has been stashed for the better part of two hours. I’m glad to see everything where we left it, and quickly grab my gun, posting up at the door in case the shooter’s on our heels._

_“Loba, I need your eyes, we’ve got contact on the roof!” Rick barks and immediately Jake and I switch places. It takes a few moments and a fair amount of cover fire for me to set up the sniper rifle, but once I’m ready, it takes only a second to lock on my target. The idiot is in plain sight, not bothering to hide his head or his weapon. He loses both with one shot, and another round of screams can be heard as his body falls off the building, face splayed open like an exploded watermelon._

_“Hey, that training course at DeVry really paid off!” Jake muses moments before taking his own target, a man sprinting up the stairs towards us. Jake’s shot sets off the grenade in the man’s hand and for a few seconds, we’re all left with ringing ears._

_“I’m good!” He calls, knowing the protocol and saving us all from having to call out for him. “Gonna need hearing aids when I’m forty, but I’m good!”_

_“Pooh, focus!” Flip growls, his eyes trained on the market below, another round of shots fired at a seemingly-growing amount of men who are all descending on our location._

_“We’ve gotta move. Ghost, meet us at the exfil, it’s too hot to stay.” I instruct, all the guys packing up our gear, ready to plow our way out with as many bullets as necessary._

_We bound tactically, using the market for cover and managing to get halfway to the exfil point without any injuries to our team. The truck we’re using to get out of town is in plain view, but in our way is an open strip of road with absolutely no cover._

_“Fuck. For once, I’d love it if command gave us something that went over 10 miles an hour.” Jake growls, hitting two more men as he speaks._

_“That thing is older than the queen.” Beef agrees, providing cover fire for Dom as he comes careening around the corner, his own gun empty of bullets._

_“We’ll take it up with command when we get back. Grump, go!” I call, pushing Dom in front of me so that I’m the last in line. With Dom technically being head of our team, and me running as his second-in-command, it doesn’t bode well to have both of us open to fire._

_I watch as all of them make a break for the truck, each man dodging bullets and making it to the armored vehicle safely. Each provides cover fire for the man after him, and by the time it’s my turn, I have six guys ready to kill any motherfucker who has the balls to let a shot off._

_“Loba, you’re a go!” Flip calls over the comms, and with one last look behind me, I start to sprint._

_Getting shot doesn’t register the way they show it in the movies. The pain doesn’t come right away, but rather a feeling like you’ve been burned by the edge of a frying pan. The warm wet follows, making you wonder if you’ve got a sweating problem that could use some botox to remedy. It’s not until you slow down that your mind has time to catch up. I make it to the truck before I even notice the blood on my white shirt._

_“She’s hit!” Flip calls out, Rick gunning the vehicle in the opposite direction from the market, bullets pinging off the armor plating as we head further into the desert and, with any luck, back behind the wire._

_“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I mutter, adrenaline keeping the pain away and letting Benji and Max do their initial triage of my wound._

_“Step on it Rick, it’s a Kubrick movie back here,” Benji calls out, his pressure on the hole in my stomach coming off only long enough to let Max cut my shirt away._

_“Let me see, Benj.” Max says sternly as I feel Jake position himself so that he can elevate my legs, everyone doing their part to help keep me alive._

_“Hey, look at me, Carmen. Sweetheart, listen, you’re gonna be okay, okay?” Dom says, and I see the fear in his eyes despite his smile down at me. His hands are warm as they card through my hair, unintentionally doing the opposite of what he wants me to do and making me want to fall asleep._

_I feel my body get lighter as more of my blood comes pouring out of my entrance wound and when Max and Benji roll me over to check for an exit hole, it’s as though I’ve been pushed out of the truck entirely._

_“Hey, Max. Promise me something?” I ask, smiling even though I can taste copper._

_“Anything you need, love.” He answers, wincing as he digs a gloved finger into my stomach, trying to take hold of the artery that was nicked. With forceps held between his teeth, he struggles to find the bleed point, knowing he has only a few moments to clamp it off before I bleed out._

_“When we get out of here, you’ll meet a nice girl and let her take your virginity.” Though they’re all panicked, my request makes the boys laugh, and eases the tension in the truck, if only for a moment._

_“I promise.” I think I catch a look between him and Dom, but as things begin to fade away, I chalk it up to a hallucination from lack of blood flow._

_“Stay with us, babe. Come, stay awake,” Jake’s voice shakes as he jostles my legs, he and Dom wearing the same look, one I know means they’re barely holding it together._

_“I’m gonna be…” Screams of ‘NO!’ are the last thing I hear before I can’t help but close my eyes._

_When I open them again, I’m met with late afternoon sun, plywood walls, and a weirdly sheer curtain that--as my eyes adjust--turns out to be mosquito netting. My head hurts, but as I move to bring my hands up to my face, I realize both of them are being held by much bigger ones._

_“Hey, bub.” I murmur, speaking as much to Dom as I am to Jake, both men so caught up in their own thoughts and tears that it takes them a moment to realize the voice they hear is mine._

_There’s a rush of joy that shoots through the room, hitting everyone and lifting their spirits. Everyone except Max, who stays in his seat, curled up by the window, tears silently streaming down his face. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know that I scared the hell out of them and that I probably flatlined; it’s rare for the boys to cry, rarer still for them to look as shell-shocked and pale as they all do._

_I’m engulfed in careful hugs and kisses, all the boys taking their turn to show just how elated they are that I’m alive, and as they file out of the room, my attention once again goes to Beef. “Hey. C’mere.” I murmur, reaching out my hands, wanting a hug. What I get instead is a stuttered sob, a keen wail, and Max looking surprisingly hurt._

_“Don’t ever do that again, do you understand? Don’t--don’t make me w-watch you d-die.” His anger dissolves into fear and anguish, and my own vision blurs as he finally stands up and rushes to me, Max careful to avoid my injury, but still bear hugging me, his face buried in the crook of my neck._

_“I’m sorry, Bear. I’m sorry,” I murmur, stroking his hair and the nape of his neck. Just as with adrenaline, the shock and fear he’s feeling need time to wear off, and crying is the best way to distill a good portion of it. Staying close and making sure I’m getting better over the next couple of days will take care of the rest._

_Kissing his cheek tenderly, I hold him until his tears subside and he pulls back to wipe them away. He gives me a wet smile, one that nearly starts my own waterworks, and sits down, taking my hand._

_“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asks, kissing each of my knuckles gently._

_“Making you promise to get laid,” I answer bluntly, the look on his face enough to nearly make me rip my stitches with laughter._


	5. Bagulho Doido

We spend the rest of the afternoon celebrating the lives of our friends the way a military funeral would never permit; food, booze, and music. By the time the sun starts to set, we’re all a little toasted, both from the booze and the cloudless skies. I make my way into the shower to cool off and wash off the saltwater from Rick’s pool, smiling when I feel Dom’s presence behind me. Having spent the afternoon teasing me, it’s no surprise that he’s making good on his promise of bunking up together. 

Untying my bikini as I walk into the  [ see-through shower ](https://i.imgur.com/YhvBMp9.jpg) , I can’t help but laugh when Dom turns on some music that’s only good for making fantasies come true. With a heavy bass line, and rhythms that remind me of Carnival, it’s clear what he’s silently asking for, and I’ve never been one to deny Dom anything. Getting good and soaked under the spray, I shake my hair out and begin to dance, rolling my hips and shaking my ass in time with the beat. It’s not the first time I’ve given Dom a show, but it’s the first time we’ve been in a position where he can reciprocate at the same time, and much to my excitement, I watch as he slowly takes off his board shorts and lays down on the bed, showing off in a way he knows will drive me mad. With every muscle outlined by the vivid hues of the sunset, he looks like Apollo and my body responds instantly the moment his hand goes to his already-hardening shaft. Dom strokes lazily, in no rush to cum despite the show in front of him, and I groan, knowing I’m in for a long, amazing night. 

The song switches over and I continue, making good use of the fog-proof glass to make sure Dom sees  _ exactly _ what he’s doing to me. Nipples hard, and skin goosebumped, I slowly bend over, smiling when I realize just how quickly he’s gotten to me. There’s no mistaking the wetness between my legs for water, and Dom sits up slightly the moment he notices, his cock jumping in his hand. Keeping my legs spread, I slowly roll my hips, allowing him one last look before I shut off the water and step out, dripping head to toe. A quick towel off only so I don’t soak the bed is the only respite Dom gets before I’m crawling over the bed and bending down to take his cock into my mouth. His sigh of appreciation makes me preen and I don’t hesitate in making his cock disappear in my mouth, smiling around his length when I hear the sound of surprise follow quickly after. 

Sex between us is never neat and tidy, and there’s a solid chance we’ll have to launder the sheets in the morning as I continue licking and sucking, making a mess in the process. Dom’s hand slides through my wet strands and I brace myself for the inevitable push down, relaxing my throat and focusing on the weight of his cock on my tongue. 

“Jesus fuck, Carmen!” Dom growls out, his eyes catching mine as I pull away from his length with a gasp for air, a mess of his precum and my spit still connecting us. I squeal when Dom yanks me up for a passionate kiss before immediately throwing me down in his previous spot. My hips are in the air before I know it, and I cry out when I feel his warm lips devouring mine, his beard tickling my inner thighs in a way that sends sparks all the way up my spine. 

My feet slide down his powerful back as he eats me out with a voracious hunger, Dom making toe-curling noises as he does so. There’s no denying we enjoy each other’s bodies as much as we enjoy a five-star meal, and it’s all I can do not to cum when I see the look of utter hunger in Dom’s eyes. 

“Get inside me, please!” I beg him when I feel myself nearing the edge, wanting him to pull out all the stops and take me like the wild animal I know hides just beneath the surface. A wink is all the response I get before I’m once again weightless, Dom putting me on my stomach and pulling my ass up high before standing into a squat on the bed. There’s no need for a warm up thrust with how wet we both are, and I scream in absolute delight as he slides in hard. 

“Oh, Dom!” I mewl, giving myself over completely as he starts an intense rhythm, his cock coming nearly all the way out before slamming back inside until his hips are flush with my ass. Neither of us is particularly quiet, but as I feel his heavy sack slap against my clit on every push of his hips, I can’t keep quiet even if I tried. 

Dom knows exactly how to work his hips to hit all the sweet spots inside me, and before long, I’ve gone non-verbal, only able to squeak and moan as I clutch the sheets like my life depends on it. Catching a glimpse of us in the mirror only serves to make my eyes roll back, as the contrast of his power against my curves only makes things hotter.

He pulls me up higher, and before I know it, I’m in the pile-driver position, looking up at his tall frame as he jackhammers into me with reckless abandon. Mouth open in a silent scream, all I can do is watch my body stretch to accommodate his girth, each stroke making me wetter and wetter, ever closer to the edge. 

With a change in angle, Dom’s thrusts start hitting my g-spot with bullseye-like precision, and I lose all control. Trembling head to toe, I try to beg him to make me cum, but all that comes out are whimpers and moans. He understands though, picking up the pace and fucking into me harder than before, wanting me to go first, as always. 

I lose all control and see stars for a moment as I squirt all over his cock and lower abs, Dom continuing to fuck me through every wave of pleasure. When he stills, I focus my attention on him, watching as he begins to empty himself inside me, the heat from his cum radiating with every shot that fills my pussy. 

“Carmen!” Dom barks out as his own body goes through a series of shivers in time with each pulse of his cock. Finally, when the haze of cumming has cleared a bit, Dom moves me one last time until we’re laying spooned together, his cock still lodged deep inside me. 

“That never gets old,” he chuckles, one hand slipping down between my legs to play, Dom knowing full well I’m gonna need a few more rounds before I’m anywhere near ready to fall asleep. 


	6. Snatch and Grab

“Good morning, ladies. Drink your coffee and get to reading, we got some intel overnight and it looks promising.” 

Rick and I sit on his sideboard, the two TVs that were hidden in the wall the day before now showing a carousel of maps, target movements, and surveillance photos. The rest of the guys sit around his dining room table, all in varying stages of awake, all still wearing whatever they’d gone to bed in; it’s a veritable sea of boxer briefs, old ratty t-shirts, and lounge pants and not for the first time, I’m glad none of us are officially ‘in’ anymore. Our old CO’s would never let us hear the end of it if we showed up to a brief wearing PJs.

“It seems that JSOC felt bad about our boys dying and did a little homework for us, forensically-speaking, and Loba’s right, the intel checks out. The fragments of the bomb they were able to analyze point to an old friend of ours,” Rick starts, clicking a button on the remote and freezing the screen on a  [ picture of a man  ](https://i.imgur.com/Hvp5qMO.jpg) we’ve all wanted to have a crack at, but could never touch due to the rules of engagement. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ this! I’m gonna kill him. That motherfucker is dead this time, I don’t give a SHIT!” We all look surprised to see Flip stand up, his face dark with rage. He begins pacing the room and ostensibly planning the murder of a known asset to a plethora of governments. 

“First off, we need him  _ alive _ , Flip. Second, he’s currently our only lead. Lastly, you know goddamn well he’s untouchable.” I finally reply, hoping Flip’s outburst is shorter than Max’s. I’m tired of the boys being angry, mainly because I can’t do much to help them ease the anger they’re all feeling.

“Oh, I’m  _ gonna _ touch him. He’s gonna wish he was in prison getting railed by a mile-long line of men who don’t know what lube is by the time I’m done with him.” Flip growls and all of us share a look of slight terror at the image his words conjure up. 

“Flip, we can work out your prison rape fantasies later. Right now our focus is on finding and questioning him.” Rick adds, clearing his throat and pointing Flip to his seat, Rick’s expression making it clear he won’t take no for an answer. 

“Miguel Sousa, last seen in London, is a Brazilian national who makes his life’s work providing bomb-making materials to the highest bidder. The US became chummy with him when he provided key intel on one of our most high-priority targets, Abu Bakr Al-Baghdadi. We all know how that ended, so let’s not pretend the guy’s info isn’t genuine. Intel reports from last night put him in his safehouse in Knightsbridge. We’ve got eyes on the ground, but we need to move before he hops back to Rio. As usual, we’re gonna need a translator ‘cause that motherfucker does  _ not _ speak English.” 

“It’s winter there, he won’t want to go home. We’ll be good to get there.” I interject, knowing full well what’s coming. All the boys stare at me, trepidation clear in their eyes. 

“What? He won’t know it’s me. I only dealt with his cronies. He doesn’t even know who I am. The CIA made sure of it after what happened in Sudan.” I say, hands raised up in surrender. 

“How’s your Portuguese?” Max asks, one eyebrow raised dubiously.

“Melhor do que o seu Espanhol,  1 ” I reply, giving Max the finger playfully as everyone stands up to get ready. 

_______________________

We lose the better part of a day due to flight time, but we have new intel by the time the wheels touch down at Heathrow.

“Miguel’s throwing a little shindig for an actress friend of his. It’s the perfect opportunity for a snatch and grab, no?” I ask, looking to Rick, knowing full well he hates disorganized operations. His eye roll says it all, and I can’t help but smirk. 

“C’mon. If it gets messy, it gets messy. Max can vouch for us!”

“The fuck I can. SAS isn’t backing us up on this. You’d do better to pray to that bald eagle you’re so fond of,” he snorts, turning my smirk into a grin. 

“Thoughts and prayers!” We all answer back at once, the SUV erupting into laughter as we reach our own safehouse for the next few days. 

[ The safehouse ](https://i.imgur.com/bhjgpkw.jpg) is one we’ve used a million times over, usually as a stopping point before hopping a flight to some far-reaching country where problems need solving the hard way. Though it’s technically owned by JSOC, we’re the only ones who use it. 

Everyone settles in briefly before going to their respective rooms to change for the operation. Having been told the party is a cocktail affair, I go through the limited options in my closet, the clothes left over from the last op we worked with London as our base. Most of the dresses are professional, which work well tactically, but will make me stand out like a sore thumb at the party. The only dress that’s remotely suitable is a  [ black lacy number ](https://i.imgur.com/Kkh4EMN.jpg) that falls to the floor. While it’s not strictly cocktail, it’ll do in a pinch. 

I’m strapping my thigh holster on when Max comes in, half-dressed in a  [ subtle blue suit ](https://i.imgur.com/fIpH4FU.jpg) , his waistcoat and red tie are done up, but his suit jacket is missing from the equation. Still only wearing the lingerie purchased specifically to go with the dress, I feel comparatively underdressed, but not uncomfortable; the number of times we’ve all seen each other naked is too high to count and neither Max nor myself bat an eye.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do what needs doing when the time comes?” Max asks, taking the dress off the hanger after carefully unzipping it, his footsteps quiet as he approaches me. 

I take hold of his shoulders as I step into the gown, Max’s hands clearing the straps as he slides the fabric up my body. Once my arms are in, he pulls me closer, one hand holding my lower back while the other slowly zips up the garment. 

“I can handle it.” I tell him confidently, meeting his gaze, Max’s eyes holding the same worry I’d seen after our last mission went sideways. 

“You’re the only one who speaks the language. We can’t help you there.” I nod, cupping his face, my thumb stroking over his cheekbone gently. 

“You guys help in the way I need you to, and I’ll take care of the talking. I’m more worried about everyone making it out of this party in one piece than I am about what I’m gonna say,” I confirm, watching as Max’s expression softens but quickly goes back to worried. The topic is a perilous one considering our recent losses, and I know I’ve misstepped by putting the thought in his mind. 

“We’re going to be fine. Everyone’s going to get out, we’re gonna interrogate the shit out of Miguel, and then we’ll get the motherfuckers that killed Jake and Benj,” I murmur, willing Max to believe me. 

He’s silent for a moment before suddenly pressing a deep, emotionally-charged kiss to my lips. I melt into it without even thinking, my arms snaking around his neck as I let my tongue slip against his. Max backs us up against a wall, his hands slipping over my curves as his mouth moves down along my jaw, my neck, and finally just over the swell of my breasts. 

Breathing heavily, I slide my fingers through his hair as the room begins to spin. Calling his name has the opposite effect of what I want, and instead of continuing, Max steps back, shaking his head. 

“Sorry, I...I know you and Dom are...I’m sorry. I got caught up. Let’s go, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

I sigh, heading to the vanity and checking my makeup before grabbing my gun and my earpiece, putting both in their appropriate locations before following Max out the door. 

_______________________

We stagger our arrivals to keep from drawing attention, and I ride  [ with Dom ](https://i.imgur.com/Y5MhmC7.jpg) , a myriad of questions running through my head. Though we’ve never officially said we’re exclusive, I still wonder how he’ll take the news of mine and Max’s kiss. Though I plan on telling him, I stay silent on the ride over, not wanting his mind distracted in case things stray away from our plan. 

The party’s in full swing by the time we get there, and security doesn’t give us a second glance as we saunter in. From the moment we step inside the lux club, the wall of bass hits us viscerally, the low tones making our senses immediately heighten as we all check for exits and choke points. 

I spot Miguel almost immediately, sitting elevated and surrounded by supermodel types who are all there for his money rather than the man himself. It won’t be subtle if one of the boys goes for the snatch with a million eyes watching and quickly, our original plan gets an edit in my mind.  [ Grabbing Rick’s gaze ](https://i.imgur.com/COJyflB.jpg) , I turn my back to him and look over my shoulder. With my free hand behind my back, I make the number two followed by a fist and immediately see both he and Dom nod their understanding. Over our time of being together as a team, we’ve adopted our own way of silent communication, and two plus a fist means two men guarding the target. Keeping my eyes locked on Rick, I stick two fingers out close together then flatten my hand, my signal for the boys to stay away from me so that I can infiltrate the target area without looking as though I came with a date. Though his face twitches, Rick nods and moves away, the rest of the team doing the same. 

Slipping a drink off a passing tray, I make my way through the gyrating crowd and up to the dais where I’m stopped by one of Miguel’s bodyguards. Smirking, I catch his gaze and take a sip of the drink, waiting patiently. 

“Deixa ela vim!  2 ” He calls out to the refrigerator-sized man in front of me, who steps aside without a single change to his expression.

Smiling brightly at the man who I hate with every fiber of my being, I watch as he evacuates the seat next to him then pats the upholstery to indicate I should sit. 

“I sorry, my English no good, you speak Portuguese?” He asks, Miguel’s eyes hopeful, his tongue peeking out of his lips in a clear sign of what he wants from me. 

“Nasci em São Paulo,  3 ” I lie, watching his eyes light up at the realization he’s talking to a fellow ex-pat. 

“Ah, que bom! O que qui uma menina linda como você está fazendo aqui em Londres?  4 ” I laugh only because he just insulted the entirety of the female population of London without even realizing it and as his hand slides down my back and firmly grabs my ass, I do my best to respond the way any of the other bimbos he’s with would; I move closer. 

“To aqui para escola.  5 ” Another lie as I press a hand to his chest, my eye catching Dom’s hardened gaze. He’s not alone, however, as both Max and Flip look like they’re ready to murder anyone who so much as bumps into them. 

“Escola...Por que a gente não vai para um lugar mais privado para eu te ensinar algumas coisas que nunca aprenderá na escola?  6 ” 

I’m glad he makes the first move, as it cuts down on how long I have to pretend to be interested. I follow him off the dais and down through the crowd, the rest of the team discreetly making their way at the same time. 

We’re nearly out of the club when Miguel stops and looks off into the distance. I close my eyes in frustration when I spot  [ Flip’s blond head ](https://i.imgur.com/uXbEP4z.jpg) over the rest of the crowd, his eyes locked on us. 

“Amigo seu?  7 ” Miguel asks me before taking off towards the exterior of the club. 

“Fuck! We’ve been made, let’s go!” I growl through my comms, taking my shoes off before giving chase, making it outside in time to see Miguel get behind the wheel of a  [ 2019 Aston Martin Vanquish ](https://i.imgur.com/zB2Fx97.jpg) wrapped in an orange chrome that makes it stand out from any other vehicle. Not wanting to let him go, I steal the keys out of the valet’s hands, and slide into the driver’s seat of a  [ 2019 Maserati Granturismo ](https://i.imgur.com/6SmvLYz.png) . As I’m about to take off, my passenger side door opens and Max slips in. Looking behind me, I see Rick, Dom, and Flip all sprint for the SUV we’d parked down the block. 

Not waiting for Max to put his seatbelt on, I put the car in gear and floor it, drifting around a narrow roundabout and spotting Miguel within seconds. 

“He’s not exactly subtle, is he?” I ask, running a red and sliding once more as Miguel heads around a corner, the chrome giving away his location like a homing beacon. 

“It’s...I can’t even joke. It’s the tackiest thing I’ve seen him drive thus far. I hope it ends up at the bottom of the Thames,” Max replies, drawing his gun and putting his window down, ready to fire as soon as he has a clear shot. 

“Remember. Tires or engine block, not his fucking face,” I warn him, as we close in on the vehicle. Max gives me a look of exasperation but nods before sliding his top half out the window, a feat even  _ I _ marvel at, considering how broad his upper body is. 

Miguel finally notices us behind him and cuts a sharp corner, the tires squealing and his lowered front end sending sparks off the asphalt as he accelerates. “Watch your head!” I call to Max, who tucks in just in time to avoid being decapitated as I cut the same corner, my back end fishtailing ever so slightly. Max shoots me a look, but says nothing about my car handling skills, he and the rest of the team having learned long ago that I drive like I’ve stolen it no matter what car I’m in.

Max lines up his shot again and this time fires, sending a bullet straight for Miguel’s rear passenger side tire. It’s an artful shot, hitting the mark perfectly and sending the car careening into a wall with a shower of sparks. 

“Well fuck me, it wasn’t a wrap. Asshole actually chrome-plated it,” I remark mostly to myself as I slow down and pin his car in with my own. Max makes quick work of yanking a semi-conscious Miguel from his seat while keeping his gun trained on our best lead thus far. 

“See? Everything turned out fine,” I smirk, unable to keep from appreciating Max’s strength as he hogties Miguel with zip ties just as the SUV pulls up behind me. 

“That was nowhere near clean,” Rick grumbles as he steps out of the car, shaking his head and opening the trunk for Max, who already has Miguel over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“But it worked,” I grin brightly, putting my heels back on before getting in next to Dom who’s got the same satisfied grin on his face. 

With a black bag over Miguel’s head, we leave as quickly as we arrived, the sound of distant sirens the only giveaway that something’s amiss in Knightsbridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Better than your Spanish,"  
> 2\. "Let her come!"  
> 3\. "I was born in São Paulo,"  
> 4\. "Ah, that's good! What's a beautiful girl like you doing in London?"  
> 5\. "I'm here for school."  
> 6\. "School... Why don't we go somewhere more private so I can teach you some things you'll never learn in school?"  
> 7\. "Friend of yours?"


	7. Choke

Gone are the suits and ties, and my heels are replaced by combat boots. 

The safehouse we use for interrogations is across town from the one we stay at, and it shows. Far from the posh of Knightsbridge, Dagenham is home to the largest diesel engine manufacturing site in the world. Soot and oil coat everything and at night, the area is a ghost town; perfect for our needs.  On paper, all the governments in the room condemn torture, but work in the business of terror long enough, and you know that’s all just to save face and keep top brass’ hands clean. We’re not animals about it of course, but if Miguel wobbles a little in his chair, it’s only because we let Max drive and London roads are  _ so _ winding.

“You know...We don’t technically  _ have _ to take the bag off his head.” Flip murmurs, breaking the silence we’ve all been in since getting Miguel settled into his new surroundings. 

“You’re absolutely certain he’s never seen you, darling?” Max asks me, his face set in concentration. The rest of the team look up for my answer and I nod. 

“Positive. Besides, bag or no bag, if he knew me, he’d have recognized my call sign by now.” I remind them, relief shooting around the room, all the men recalling that Miguel was privy to any conversation we had in the car, call signs included. 

“Alright. Who’s going in with you?” Rick asks, finally moving from his position against the wall, taking a seat next to Flip who looks all too eager to get a crack at our soon-to-be informant. Knowing he’ll be a liability if he reads the tone wrong, I look around, my gaze resting on Max as I smirk. 

“Beef. I owe him for nearly taking his head off earlier,” I answer, both Dom and Rick nodding their understanding. Flip looks somewhat crestfallen, but I know he understands. He, of all of us, is too close to the situation, and though I know there’ll be a time to turn him loose, this isn’t it. 

Max and I both stand from our seats, checking our handguns as we move towards the blast door that separates us from Miguel. Taking a moment, we focus our gazes on each other, silently getting on the same page so that there’s no chance of Miguel thinking one of us is weaker than the other. 

With a nod to each other, I take a deep breath and open the door. Padded on the outside in order to mitigate any screaming or loud music we might use throughout our interrogations, the room is a graveyard silent. Once the door shuts, Max moves with precision, turning the stereo on full blast, and I can’t help but smile at the song that comes on. While all of us are Metal fans, it’s one of the most effective interrogation tools we have because those in the hot seat usually either haven’t ever heard metal before (and are  _ immediately _ disturbed by it) or despise it to the point where they can only tolerate so much. EDM comes a close second, but in Miguel’s case, Metal is the right call as he flinches immediately. Catching Max’s eye, we can’t help but grin as we mouth along to the lead singer’s screaming, the song’s lyrics about lying and choking oddly appropriate for what’s about to happen. 

I headbang along with the double-bass as I grab a five-gallon jug of water, hoisting it over my shoulder and letting Max handle the towels as we set things up. When everything’s ready, Max moves into position, arms crossed over his broad chest, his trademark scowl firmly in place. 

I count to three with one hand, and on ‘one’, pull the bag from Miguel’s head, immediately tipping his head back and holding it in place with my forearm as I dilate his eyes. Max and I both stay out of his line of sight for the few moments it takes for the drops to work, and once we see the tell-tale squint, we slowly move to our places. 

“Miguel, ta com cara que ta com sede, meu amigo. 1” I open, one eyebrow raised, staying just far away enough to be little more than a faceless blur to our informant. 

“Vai se foder! 2” He yells, trying and failing to get out of the restraints he’s in. 

“Ah, que isso, cara. Não fique assim. A gente só quer falar com você, 3” I purr, playing the Nice Girl routine even though everyone in the room knows it won’t last long. 

“Certo, é por isso que vocês me capturaram, colocaram um saco na minha cabeça, e me levaram a Deus sabe onde. Falar, uma ova! 4” 

“Já aprendeu Inglês, seu cafajeste? 5” I ask him, hoping he’s picked up a second language since the last time any of our governments dealt with him, more for the rest of the team’s sake than my own.

“I have,” he says, his accent nearly a perfect facsimile of anyone who’s been born and raised in London. Max’s eyebrow goes up in mild surprise, and if I know my team, the rest of them are all pressed against the two-way mirror, intent on listening now that they can understand. 

“Good, so we’ll do this in English, ‘cause fuck you,” I tell him in no uncertain terms, moving into his space so he can confirm that the woman he wanted to bang at the party is the same one who’s now holding his life in her hands. 

With everyone in the room discreetly mic’d up--including Miguel--there’s no need to turn down the music, and I use it to my advantage, wanting him as disoriented as possible so that he’s not focused on his words or the thoughts behind them.

“Three weeks ago, right here in London, two of our own were killed by a bomb that has your signature all over it. Wanna tell me who you sold that bomb to?”

Miguel laughs, a dry throaty sound that comes from too many cigars, and too much time around toxic chemicals; if one of us doesn’t kill him, I know for a fact cancer will get him in the end. 

“I sell bombs to many people. How am I supposed to remember who I’ve sold to a month ago,  _ puta _ ?”

I don’t have time to react as Max lunges in and connects with Miguel’s jaw in one of the most vicious right hooks I’ve seen him throw in a long time. 

“Talk to her like that again and I’ll dislocate the other side, y’cunt.” Max growls, teeth bared mere inches from Miguel’s face, leaving no room for interpretation of just how pissed he is. Without another word, Max takes Miguel’s face in his hand and relocates the joint he popped out, a scream coming from our informant as soon as he can open his mouth.

“See, Miguel, I’d like to think you’d remember, because this particular order had your initials on one of the plates, and I know you only do that when your order is for a single explosive device. Mass orders go through the factory, but the custom pieces, well...You’ve gotta take pride in your work, right?” I’ll give the man props, because if he’s searching for a lie, I can’t tell. His face stays unreadable apart from the discomfort from the light. 

I shoot Max a look just as the song switches over, and he nods. 

“Fuck this.” He barks, flipping a switch on the wall that immediately sends Miguel’s chair back into a 45-degree angle, the back legs hinged to the floor so he can never truly fall back, but feels like he’s going to, just the same. With the lights directly in his line of sight, I can’t keep from smirking as I hear Miguel hiss and try to cover his eyes, the steel shackles on his wrists clanking loudly and only causing him more pain. 

“What is it, Miguel? Lights too bright?” I ask as I move to grab the first neatly folded towel from the pile. “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” 

Pressing the towel firmly against his face, I stand out of the way as Max pours the water from the jug. We both count silently in our heads, Max stopping at exactly the right number as I flick the switch to bring Miguel upright once more. 

Our informant coughs and sputters, screaming every vulgarity I’ve ever heard in Portuguese before spitting in our general direction. 

“THERE WAS NO NAME! IT WAS PURCHASED BY AN ENTITY!”

I roll my eyes, annoyed that a man who once gave up an internationally wanted terrorist is now spewing bullshit about an entity. 

“So you sold your shit to a ghost? That what you want me to believe?” I ask, feeling my own anger start to rise. I grab a fresh towel and Max and I repeat the process with surgical precision. It takes Miguel a little longer to cough up the water he’s swallowed, but when he’s finally able to speak, his voice is far more defeated. 

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. The entity I sold that bomb to is known as _Cenere_. I get a call with a location, date, and time for delivery. I get the specs sent via encrypted email, and when the time comes, I deliver, usually to a lockbox in the middle of nowhere. That is all I know.”

Max looks at me and I know he’s itching to hit him again. I shake my head, squatting down in front of our informant so that he can see me clearly. 

“Is there  _ anything _ else you want to tell us that may be important? For example, the location and date of the last delivery you provided for this entity?” I enunciate every word, my tone making it clear that  _ I’ll  _ be the one hitting him next if he tries to lie or get smart again. 

“L-last delivery was in Roma, by the Colosseum, a week ago.” He answers, still hoarse from inhaling water. 

“So whoever these people are, they’re planning another bombing,” I say, feeling the room behind me start moving; Rick and Dom looking up information, Flip packing our gear. We don’t have a lot of time. 

“Y-yes. The bomb that killed your  _ amigos _ was delivered exactly two weeks before it detonated. That’s how they always do it.” Miguel adds, giving us an even narrower timeline to get to Rome. 

“Cut him loose,” I sigh, wishing Miguel could give us more to go on besides a location we’ll be getting to zero prep time and even less information. 

Max moves towards him, a wolfish grin on his face. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. 

“I sincerely hope someone strings you up by your balls and cuts them off with a piece of paper. This is for everyone you’ve had a hand in massacring. Especially my friends.” 

I don’t have to look to hear a few of Miguel’s teeth rattle to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Miguel, you look thirsty, my friend.  
> 2\. Fuck you!  
> 3\. Ah, come on, man. Don't be like that. We just wanna talk with you,  
> 4\. Right, which is why you guys captured me, put a bag over my head, and took me to god-knows-where. Talk, my ass!  
> 5\. You learn English yet, you dick? [Technically, cafajeste means scoundrel, but its equivalent is dick.]
> 
> The song playing during the interrogation is Choke by Bury Tomorrow. Play it loud to get the full effect. ;)


	8. Safaera

_ The room is starkly lit, the sickly blue tone reminiscent of a hospital. Empty aside from a plexiglass box filled with dirt and a pine-board coffin, there’s a feeling dread that emanates throughout the place.  _

_ “Carmen? Carmen! Carmen, if you can hear me, you need to get me out. Get me the fuck out of here, Carmen. Carmen, please!! Please! I can’t-I can’t breathe! Carmen, don’t leave me here!”  _

_ A heartbeat--elevated and distinct--couple with the sounds of hyperventilation to turn dread into pure fear.  _

_ “CARMEN, PLEASE! I’M GOING TO DIE! DON’T LET THEM KILL ME!” _

_ Something cuts through the air with a distinct zing, crashing heavily onto the floor. The box, the dirt, and the coffin are all sliced neatly, trapped almost perfectly between thick sheets of razor-sharp glass. All except the first slice, where the side of the coffin has fallen away, trapped at a skewed angle below the dirt.  _

_ Rick looks like a fish out of water, gasping for breath, tears flooding his eyes. Despite being segmented like some primal experiment, every part of him still heaves with breath, organs pulsing with blood they no longer have, intact structurally despite being completely separated.  _

_ “Carmen, please!” It’s a whisper now, the life going out of Rick’s eyes even as the tears sweep his face. _

_ A long low horn sounds, finalizing the horror that’s come to pass. _

I wake screaming, tears pouring down my face. Not realizing where I am at first, I don’t even see the boys as I fight with my lap belt and haul ass out of the seat, vaulting over Dom’s legs and careening to the bathroom to throw up. It’s rare that I dream, but when I do, it’s never good. This one felt too real; it felt like a message from a man I’m certain we buried. The room spins and I heave out what little is left from lunch earlier. When I’m certain there’s nothing left to get out, I sit back, sobbing. 

When I can breathe properly again, I stand up and wash out my mouth, swilling the courtesy mouthwash before splashing cold water on my face. Stepping out of the small bathroom, I’m met with utter silence and four sets of eyes staring at me with concern. I can’t bring myself to tell them what I dreamt, and none of them need an intro into nightmares, as all of us, regardless of how little bloodshed we’ve seen, have them from time to time. 

Still feeling the panic in my throat, I decide against taking my old seat, not wanting to be caged in. Instead, I sit behind Dom’s aisle, resting my head against the cool plastic of the window and looking out, my mind reeling.  _ What if the bomb isn’t what killed him and Benj? What if they suffered? What if-- _ I cut off my own mental processing, not wanting to go down the dark alleys of my mind, wiping my eyes to stem the flow of fresh tears. 

I feel a hand at my knee, and looking down, find Dom’s hand reaching back through the seats. Though he faces forward, it’s easy to tell what he’s doing, and I lace our fingers together loosely, taking the much-needed comfort of his touch. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze, and I turn my face away further, not wanting any of the guys to see me like this. 

* * *

Rome is warmer than I expected and as soon as we leave the hotel, I regret my choice of wearing all black. Although it’s one of my favorite places, I can’t help but feel dread this time around knowing that if we don’t stop it in time, a bomb will disrupt the city and potentially kill innocent bystanders in the process. 

A hand squeezing the back of my neck takes me out of my thoughts and I look up to find Max standing next to me, gazing out at the same square I am. Closing my eyes, I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep from crying once more, my dream still haunting me despite having happened nearly two hours before. 

“Y’alright, love?” He asks softly, keeping his gentle hold on my neck, Beef making it look like we’re simply two acquaintances talking about where to go next. The remainder of the plane ride in had been pin-drop silent and despite Dom’s show of care, Max is the first one to actually ask if I’m alright. Swallowing thickly, I nod, forcing myself not to lean into him, knowing that there’s a fair chance we’re already being watched and not just by the rest of the team. 

“I dreamt about Jake. It was...I just hope he didn’t feel any pain,” I whisper, my voice cracking and forcing me to look in a different direction momentarily, willing my tears not to fall. 

“Given it was a closed casket, I can promise you he didn’t feel a thing. Him or Benji,” Max assures me, his own voice a little tense, leaving no doubt that, while he and the boys don’t speak on it, they’re still feeling the losses in the same way I am. 

“Let’s hope you’re right and that we can catch these motherfuckers so we can make them feel it.” I say after a moment, my grief shifting back to the anger necessary to carry on with our jobs.

“Intel just gave us an update. They confirmed a money transfer to Miguel’s offshore account a week ago from a Swiss account. They’re trying to bully their way into getting the account info as we speak,” Max murmurs, massaging my neck for a moment before letting go, his arm dropping to sling over my shoulder casually. 

“Good. Tell them to throw their weight around. We need to find these assholes before they kill anyone else.” Max nods his agreement, turning us back to the team who’re all sitting nearby, doing their best to look like tourists. 

The Colosseum up close is as grand as all the pictures. I hesitate to think of what will happen if a bomb goes off anywhere near it. The loss of history alone would be unspeakable, reminding me of all the historical artifacts that had been destroyed during my last tour with the Navy proper. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach comes up far too easily at the memory, and I have to shake my head to dismiss it, not wanting to remember. 

“We ready to move?” Rick asks, looking around casually, all of us separated just enough to not be conspicuous. “Alright then, let’s head out.” 

In random order we get up, some in pairs, some solo, all of us ambling our way towards the Colosseum, intent on finding and disarming the bomb before Cenere set it off. I head towards the north of the structure with Rick, holding his hand in a simple attempt at making us look like a couple. 

“We’re gonna find it, gonna disarm it, and send it back to Miguel wrapped in a bow,” Rick grins, confident that we can run a disarmament that same way we always have, even with minimal equipment, additional support, or any heavy firepower. I nod, knowing better than to voice my doubts, as it’s always a bad omen if a soldier does; Even though we’re ‘out’ old habits die hard. 

“Anything?” Flip asks, his voice terse as he makes his way along the south side, all of us having to look through the crowds that always gather around the historic site, their presence making us all the more tense, given the propensity for loss of life. 

“Nothing yet. DOD says we should be looking for something that looks like an ammo case,” Rick murmurs into his comm, pulling me close and stopping as he scans the area, pretending to hold a map for me to look at. 

“Guys, head’s up we’ve got eyes on us, two on the West side.” Dom reports, my heart rate increasing, knowing he’s alone on his side of the structure.

“Two more on the East,” Max chimes in, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, heart in my throat.

“Breathe,” Rick whispers in my ear, kissing my head afterward, making it look as though we’re just another loving couple enjoying a vacation in Rome. I do as asked, knowing both men can handle two combatants with their hands tied behind their backs. Biting my lip to keep from blurting out that I have a bad feeling we’re being set up, I continue moving with Rick, our pace leisurely. 

“Guys, I think I found--” Flip’s voice is cut off by a sharp, deafening crack. The pressure wave is strong enough that we feel it on the opposite side of the Colosseum and the windows of the Oppio Cafe behind us blow out, spraying glass in every direction. 

Dropping any notion of playing tourists, Rick and I sprint towards the North side, catching up to Max as we make our way. Panic is palpable as the site descends into chaos, screams of pain and loss mixing with the din of people shouting for their loved ones, the distant ring of sirens and shop alarms only adding to the insanity.

“FLIP! TALK TO ME!” I bark into the comms, Dom and Rick doing the same, all of us terrified that we’ve lost another family member. 

“I’m good. Deaf, but good!” Flip calls back, coughing. The sight of his blond hair backing away from the detonation site is one that will stay with me forever. Though covered in dirt and peppered with debris, I see no blood or missing limbs where I’m from and the relief that washes over me nearly makes the world spin for the second time in 24 hours. 

We pause our run, grateful to see our friend alive and in one piece, despite his proximity to the explosion. In all the chaos and smoke, none of us remember the four men who’d been tailing Dom and Max, all of us forgetting about the eyes on us. 

When daylight suddenly disappears, I realize we’ve made a grave mistake and that my intuition was right all along; the bomb was just a setup, a way of picking one or maybe two of us off and separating us further. 

By the time I remember to scream, it’s too late. 


	9. Closer

“THIS IS YOUR FUCKING FAULT! SHE WAS ON YOUR WATCH, RICK!”

“ _ MY _ WATCH? FUCK YOU, MAX! SHE’S A GROWN FUCKING WOMAN WHO, LAST I CHECKED, CAN HANDLE HERSELF AND THEN SOME! DON’T GO TRYING TO PUT THIS ON ME, CAUSE I  _ WILL _ PUT YOU IN A FUCKING PINE BOX!”

“ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP. THIS WON’T DO SHIT TO BRING HER BACK! SHUT THE FUCK UP, SIT THE FUCK DOWN, AND LET’S FUCKING FIND HER BEFORE THEY KILL HER!”

Normally, Dom hates yelling, but barking is the only way to be heard over Max and Rick, who are holding each other by the collars, ready to go to blows over my kidnapping. 

While Max gets mad at Rick because he feels guilty that he didn’t spot the guy behind me, and Rick gets mad at Max for the exact same thing, I sit in what smells like a sewer with a bag over my head and a dude yelling at me in Marsi. I don’t speak it, but I’ve been around it enough to recognize it from other Arabic dialects. Given that we’ve traveled by car only, I know we’re not in Egypt, making the boys’ chances of finding me that much better. We  _ were, _ however, on the road long enough for them to have stopped at least twice to pee, so the chances of us being in Rome are slim to none.

“You know, I speak a lot of languages, but I don’t understand a fucking word you’re saying. English, fuckass. English.” I call out when I’m tired of hearing him yell. While it sounds like there’s only one man in the room, I know better; if luck is on my side, the man that’s caused us so much grief over the last few weeks will be in the room and I can finally get an ID. 

I try to picture him in my head, coming up with a million different wannabe supervillains, all wearing sharp suits and carrying a different weapon of choice. None of them quite measure up to a man who I--and the rest of the crew--want to kill on sight. 

When the bag is finally pulled off my head, I’m disappointed to only find the man who’d been yelling at me. With no windows, my hope that our catch is in the building is lowered considerably. That is, until I spot the mic carefully hidden on the man’s sweat-soaked shirt. I do my best to keep my face neutral, wanting to play their game for a little while and see exactly what we’re up against. 

“Can I have a cigarette?” I ask after noticing the ropes wrapped around my hands. If I’m gonna be tortured, might as well enjoy the little bit of time I have left before they start. My captor looks confused, but comes closer, holding out a crumpled pack of smokes. I pull out one and trap it between my teeth, tipping my chin up for him to light it. 

“Grazie,” I murmur, taking a deep inhale before lowering the cigarette, using the small window of time I have left to headbutt the man as hard as I can. Chuckling softly as the room spins, I take another drag or two before flicking the cigarette at him and cracking my neck both ways. 

“Let’s do this, fuckass. Give me a show, will ya?” 

_____________________________

“She’s in Potenza,” Max sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and keeping his eyes locked on his laptop, knowing the entirety of the room is staring at him. 

“I put a tracker on her before we picked up Miguel,” he mutters after a few moments of silence, squeezing one eye shut as he waits for the onslaught from the rest of the crew.

“You what?” Dom asks, scratching his head, head cocked to one side.

“She’s gonna kill you when she finds out, I hope you know that. How did you even--you know what? I don’t wanna know how your fucking virgin ass did it, ‘cause it was probably awkward,” Rick mutters, eyes narrowed accusatorially. 

“... _ Why _ ?” Flip finally asks, looking up at the ceiling as though he’s just learning to understand English. 

“I was worried Miguel was going to take her, so I slipped it on the tag of her bra before the party. I was banking on us not having time to change much before coming here, and I was right. Also, Dom, if you’re going to hit me, now’s the time, ‘cause I kissed her.”

Rick and Flip look to Dom, wondering if they’re going to have to break up Max’s second fight of the day, but Dom merely grabs Max’s shoulders, squeezing them in gratitude. 

“Let’s go before they move her again, or strip her,” Dom says darkly, immediately shifting the mood of the room back to where it should have been focused in the first place and getting everyone moving.

_____________________________

The ropes are less painful than I assumed they would be as I’m yanked to the ceiling. Tensing my shoulders keeps them in their sockets on the bounce at the top and though I know I’m gonna be sore for a few days, it’s nothing compared to what’s laid out in front of me. Though it’s the usual scare-tactic stuff, the guy in front of me is crazy--and pissed off--enough that he just might use it. When he picks up the cattle prod, I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. 

“Aww,  _ honey _ , that’s cute. Go ahead, light me up!” I can’t stop the grin, or the shit-talking, knowing full well what’s coming. 

I brace for the shock, making sure to keep my tongue clear of my teeth and my abs tensed. It’s a lot stronger than I remember, but after a few seconds, I’m smiling again. This is gonna be a cakewalk. 

_____________________________

“No, man, but seriously. Why  _ are _ you a virgin? It’s not for lack of looks or available women. What gives?” 

“Why I signed up to run with you clowns is something I ask myself  _ daily _ nowadays,” Max growls, dismissing Rick’s question with a roll of his eyes. 

“I mean, is it a religious thing? I’ve never seen you pray a day in your life, so that can’t be it. Are you questioning? Not sure if the box is for you? Nah, I’ve seen you around enough strippers, and as you said, you kissed Carmen. I honestly can’t figure it out, man. Just please tell me you’re not waiting for marriage or I’ll have no choice but to punch you, especially since you’ve been with us long enough to have gotten it a million times over with Carmen.”

“Speaking of...Dom, why  _ are _ you so calm? I mean, he kissed your woman.” Flip asks, still utterly confused about the entirety of the situation, only able to blame it partially on the concussive force of the blast. 

“She’s not  _ my _ woman. Never has been, never will be. She’s not property, which you idiots can’t seem to figure out. If she wants to fuck Max’s brains out, more power to her. I’m just happy she’s with me when she’s with me. If she wants more, then I’m down. If she wants to go back to how things were? I’m okay with that too. At the end of the day, as long as she’s alive, healthy, and smiling? I’m happier than a pig in shit.” Dom shrugs off the question, putting the rest of the car inadvertently in a reverent mood.

“I just hope she’s in one piece when we get there,” Max whispers, memories of when he almost lost me coming back in vivid detail. 

“Are you _in_ _love_ with her, Max?” Rick asks after a beat, the silence in the car more telling than any answer Max could have given him. 

_____________________________

It’s clear after a few minutes that my captor is being instructed on how to torture me, and my suspicions are confirmed after two more men walk in, both looking far more formidable than my original torturer. 

I don’t have time to think, as the man who’s clearly in charge pulls out a knife and begins to cut my shirt away, followed by my pants, leaving me only in my underwear. I’m not embarrassed and it’s clear looking into the eyes of the men that their plant to humiliate me has back-fired beautifully. 

The blowtorch flicking on makes it clear that the leader, unlike his predecessor, came prepared to play. I close my eyes, not wanting to know if I’m about to feel an open flame against my skin, or something more cauterizing and metallic.

When I come to, it’s to a few new scars, and a face on a TV screen that finally lives up to the supervillain I’ve been trying to picture.

_____________________________

“Her signal’s still going.” Max murmurs as he straps up, grabbing his SAW once he’s sure everything’s tight.

“Doesn’t mean she’s alive,” Rick answers, causing pain to flash across Max’s face. 

“Don’t say that, man. She’s tough, she’s been through worse. She’ll be alive.” 

“Everyone ready?” Dom breaks up the banter again, his own face more than a little concerned.

The boys move as one, and on Dom’s near-silent call over the comms, level their weapons. The sound of their arrival is  _ deafening _ .

_____________________________

“Hey.”

It’s been a few hours since the boys saved the day and I killed the fucking fly, accidentally adding to Flip’s already pounding migraine. All things considered, I’m hurting, but not enough to warrant any special attention from the guys. So I’m surprised when, after knocking softly, Max comes in, hands full. 

“What’s all this?” I ask, managing a small smile for his sake; my head’s still all over the place, especially with all the information I got once I was conscious again. 

“Figured you could use a little company,” he shrugs innocently, closing the door behind him before tossing me a bag of Chicago Mix and crawling onto the bed, a package of cookies in hand. Wearing a hoodie, sweatpants, and socks, he looks as comfortable as I wish I could be, given my injuries. 

Without a word, Max tugs me into his side, flipping the channel on the TV from the Italian coverage of the bombing to a movie channel. The movie is instantly recognizable, and I can’t help but smile as Jean Seberg comes on screen, selling New York Herald Tribune copies. Wrapping my arms around Max’s torso, I let my head fall to his chest, taking in a shaky breath. 

“Thanks for coming to save my ass today. Things were starting to get a little hairy before you all showed up.” I confess, knowing full well that cuts were the next thing on the list had the guys not barged in when they had. 

Max kisses the top of my head and I can feel his lower lip tremble as he holds me just a little tighter. Daring a glance up, I find his eyes closed, mouth pressed in a tight line against tears I know are on the verge of falling. He swallows and his chest rattles as he takes a big gulp of air. 

“I’m just glad we got to you in time,” he whispers, giving me another squeeze. It’s then that I realize that the events of the day I got shot have never really left him and my heart breaks, knowing he’s been carrying around that weight this whole time.

“I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t put the tracker on me. I’m glad you did.” I admit, both of us knowing full well I would have said no if he’d asked me outright to wear it. 

Max tips my chin up and kisses me softly, tenderness imbued in the action. I melt into it, my hand rubbing over his heart, silently offering him the comfort I know he’s never gotten over the situation. When we pull away, tears trail down both our cheeks.

“I need to tell you something, Max. While I was in there, I saw--”

“Shh. Not tonight. Tonight, the only thing I want you to worry about it is eating snacks, watching the movie, and getting some well-earned rest.” He murmurs softly, stroking my tears away with his knuckles. 

Closing my eyes, I press my face into his chest briefly before doing as asked and turning my attention to the movie, Max opening up the popcorn while I turn up the volume.


End file.
